


Aftermath

by Stormwriter



Category: Sander Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Original Character(s), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, because they're ghosts, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormwriter/pseuds/Stormwriter
Summary: Virgil and Roman learn there are consequences to their actions, Logan and Patton learn there are consequences to their emotions, and Thomas learns to be careful with salt.





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will have allusions and mentions of death, suicide, depression, and murder: please read cautiously if any of those are triggering.

Virgil tugs his hood further down to cover his face as he wanders endlessly down the road. It’s more for comfort than anything else; the harsh wind is blowing through the chill night, but surprisingly he can’t feel a thing through his purple hoodie and jeans.

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking. The sky is still as dark and ominous as it was when he first woke up on this vaguely familiar street. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t recall much of what happened before waking up; there was darkness, a burning sensation in his chest, and then he woke up here.

 

He’s not even sure where “here” is; even with the multiple streetlights, it’s too dark to make out any of the writings on the various buildings’ signs.

 

Footsteps echo behind him, and he spins around. A figure in a winter coat far in the distance is walking in his direction. Virgil feels ecstatic; it’s the first person he’s seen since he’s woken up in who-knows-where.

 

He jogs to meet the figure. As he gets closer, the man’s grey coat and red hat becomes visible. Virgil waves to get his attention, but the man seems focused on a spot behind Virgil.

 

 _“Hey!”_ Virgil yells, then frowns. His voice doesn’t sound like him, all weird and distorted. He clears his throat, and tries again. _“Hey!”_

 

Distracted with his voice, he isn’t aware of the man continuing to approach him until the man has passed him. He scrambles to catch up. _“Hey, wait!”_

 

Virgil matches his pace with the stranger. _“Hey dude, I’m super lost; can you tell me where I am? Please?”_

 

The man pulls his phone out of his pocket, seemingly to check the time, and quickens his pace. “ _Wait, hold on!”_ He reaches for the man’s shoulder.

 

His hand glides straight through the coat, and he freezes. _What the heck?_ The man walks on, unaware of the distressed soul behind him.

 

He brings his hand close to his face; it appears solid and normal. He then pushes his hand against a nearby streetlight, his eyes widening when his hand phrases straight through.

 

His head spinning, Virgil tries to gain back control of his suddenly erratic breathing. There has to be some explanation to this nightmare. Maybes this is just a vivid dream?

 

But he hasn't dreamt in nearly a decade.

 

It hits him, hard, and he wishes he didn't understand: he's alone, again. And now he’s stuck here.

 

His knees buckle and he falls on his knees on the hard, cold ground that he should be able to feel but can't.  

 

He can't feel anything, and he’s all alone.

 

No one can hear or see him.

 

He closes his eyes and screams in agony anyway.

 

**...**

He loses time.

 

The sun is in the sky now; it must be morning, or possibly afternoon. Virgil doesn’t really know, nor does he care. In the daylight, Virgil recognizes the street he’s taken position in as one of the main street of the city, which was only two blocks away from his campus. The familiarity does nothing to comfort him.

 

He hasn’t moved from where he fell, although now he's sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and buries his head in his arms. He’s barely conscious of the people briskly walking around and through him and the cars driving in the road.

 

He has long given up on trying to be seen or heard.

 

“Hey,” suddenly there’s a young female voice in front of him; he flinches, thinking someone is talking to him, before he remembers that’s impossible. “Hey! You look familiar,” the voice continues. “...Virgil, right?”

 

Startled, Virgil’s head flies up to see a girl about his age with short, curly brown hair, and a red sweater crouching in front of him. Numbly, Virgil nods.

 

The girl grins. “Yay, I got your name right! I’m usually horrible with names, haha. You were a student at the university two blocks down from here, right?”

 

Virgil nods again, confused on the past tense.

 

“I was too.”

 

“ _Was?”_ Virgil asks.

 

The girl flinches. Before Virgil can ask, she recovers quickly and shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, yeah. It’s kind of hard to attend classes when you’re dead.”

 

“ _Dead?”_

 

“Yes, dead. Deceased. In the grave. It’s a slight prerequisite to becoming a ghost last time I checked.”

 

“ _Ghost?”_

 

She frowns and rolls her eyes impatiently. “What are you, a parrot? Yes, ghost. We’re ghosts. You’ve been dead for a while now, if you haven’t noticed.”

 

Virgil’s eyes widen, his gut lurches, and the girl’s expression softens.

 

“Oh, you didn’t know,” she says, her voice softening. “Well, welcome to the afterlife!” she says, gesturing to the surroundings.

 

Virgil shifts his eyes to the people shuffling around or through the duo. “ _So that’s why no one can see or hear us.”_

 

“10 points to the dude in the hoodie!” She says in a manner not unlike a gameshow host. “It’s also why your voice sounds like that.” She frowns, eyes shifting to the side before looking at Virgil again. “Speaking of voices, you best keep that distinct voice of yours as silent as you can.”

 

Virgil frowns. “ _Why?”_

 

Moving her hand through her hair, she sighs. “I’m assuming you’re not consciously doubling it.”

 

Virgil nods.

 

She winces. “Yeah, I figured. Darn, that means you have a bit of a problem.”

 

_“What do you mean?”_

 

There’s barely concealed pity in her eyes. “There's a general rule in the local ghost community to keep on the down low as much as possible; it's keeps us from getting on hunters’ radar. And there's certain-”

 

_“Wait, hunters? Like people who track down deer and stuff?”_

 

“Kinda. Except we're the deer. And we're always in season.” She laughs, like possible death is humorous. “Hunters are convinced that all ghosts are like evil, corrupted monsters or something. I'll be honest, I’m not very monstrous. And I don't think you are either, and you've been dead longer than I have.”

 

_“Wait, how long have I've been dead? And how do you know so much about me? I don't know you at all.”_

 

She squints into the distance. “I think it’s been...three weeks? Pretty sure it’s been three weeks. Time is a little hard to keep track of time sometimes.”

 

“ _How long have you been dead?”_

 

“About a week less than that.”

 

“ _So how do you know when I died when I don’t know you?”_

 

Her eyes drop from Virgil's, and her hands start fiddling with the drawstrings from her sweatshirt. “Um, about that, we didn't really hang out when we were alive. When you died, the university made uh, quite the public announcement about it, since you died on campus. And they, uh,” she looks up at Virgil. “Wait, do you remember how you died yet?”

 

Images flash in Virgil’s mind: a college dorm cast in darkness, hands shaking in apprehension. Virgil shakes his head to clear it. _“Not really, no.”_

 

There’s pity in her smile. “That’s ok. Memories leading up to death take a while to come back sometimes.”

 

“ _Do you remember how you died yet? Or your life? I don’t remember much.”_

 

“I remember enough,” she says, a fire flashing in her eyes momentarily. Virgil blinks at the sudden and complete 180 in her composure. She smiles a little too brightly. “Welp, that’s enough for ghost orientation today,” she says, standing up and walking away. “See ya, Virgil. Do remember to hide that unique voice of yours silent if you want to stick around here; not everyone likes a Banshee.”

 

 _“Wait,”_ Virgil stands up as well. _“What’s a Banshee?”_

 

She turns back to Virgil with a crooked grin. “Remember that angel statue like two buildings from here?”

 

Virgil nods.

 

“Have you taken a look at it since you’ve died?”

 

Virgil shakes his head.

 

Her eyes light up, and Virgil’s uneasiness grows. “Well, let’s go on a field trip then!” Grabbing Virgil’s arm, she makes her way to the statue, Virgil dragging behind.

 

“ _What’s so important about a sta-”_ Virgil’s voice trails off when they arrive at the statue. Or more accurately, where the statue should be.  

 

Only the statue’s base remains in its entirety. The angel’s limbs are sprinkled across the ground below it. Short wings protrude from the torso, becoming stumps after a foot or two, a mere echo of the great wingspan it used to have.

 

The angel Virgil has always seen as a constant landmark has been reduced to ruins.

 

“This, my friend,” she says. “Is why rarely any ghosts like Banshees.”

 

“ _How did this happen?”_

 

“Do you remember yelling or screaming at all since you died?”

 

Virgil pauses. _“No? Wait, I think I did some my first night. Why?”_

 

She points to the statue. “That’s the result.”

 

 _“You're saying_ I _did this?”_

 

“Yup,” she says. “A Banshee’s scream can and usually will cause physical damage, among other things.”

 

Virgil stares at the chaotic mess of the statue in horror.

“That’s why you need to keep that voice as quiet as you can. Because stuff like this,” she gestures to the ruin. “- gets the attention of hunters and temperamental ghosts, and unfortunately none of them are as nice as I am.”

 

“ _I don’t understand,”_ Virgil says. “ _Why help me out? Why even give me a warning?”_

 

Her crooked grin appears again. “That’s for me to know, and you to ponder on. See ya around, Virge.” She closes her eyes, and her form starts fading to nothing.

 

“ _Wait, you never told me your name!”_

 

“Morgan,” she says with a grin, disappearing completely.

**..**

**Hunter’s Guide to the Supernatural: Fast Facts on Ghosts and Ghouls**

#1. Immediately after their death, ghosts are typically disorientated. Their memory of the events leading up to their death may be shaky until hours, days, or even weeks afterward. In some cases, the disorientation is so extreme the ghost does not initially realize they’re dead.

#2. After people die, their ghost typically first appear in close distance to where they died.

**Author's Note:**

> While I have this entire work outlined, it might be a while until the next chapter is posted because I'm in school at the moment. That said, comments are still very much appreciated!


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